Fly-by-Night Minimalism 08
March 10th, 2010
Atlanta, Georgia
Fly-by-Night Minimalism 07
March 10th, 2010
Decatur, Georgia
Fly-by-Night Minimalism 06
March 10th, 2010
Atlanta, Georgia
Fly-by-Night Minimalism 05
March 9th, 2010
West Roxbury, Massachusetts
Fly-by-Night Minimalism 04
March 9th, 2010
West Roxbury, Massachusetts
Precious Plats Feedback
March 5th, 2010
Fly-by-Night Minimalism 03
March 3rd, 2010
Calistoga, California
Fly-by-Night Minimalism 02
March 3rd, 2010
Decatur, Georgia
Fly-by-Night Minimalism 01
March 3rd, 2010
Austin, Texas
I take three laxatives
March 2nd, 2010I take three laxatives, the pill kind, even though feeling the robbed grave of my viscera smooth into a telescope view of fog in night sky, purple and undulating, I know it will turn me inside out more than empty me. Sitting sunken and waiting a hum like an organ or a terrain of twisting elastic grows into groaning. I don’t see phases in phenomena. I exist in binary. Start. Stop. Between start and stop is passage so uniform it isn’t even causal; it isn’t sustained by will. I can’t even shit. The apartment is too still. It doesn’t groan loud enough. Light, when I open my eyes after salivating to suck the pills down, stops but leaves a redness where it had slowed. Can I slow passage? Feeling the medicine fan through me like fish scales without fish clouding the still surface of a sea brings up a breeze in the obscurity of my bowels. A cool wash of winter air on an unbandaged wound crystallizes across the inside of my skin and eyelids. I pretend for myself that I can recognize what is happening in bigger arcs and increments but when I stop to have that vision back toward myself it is clouded except for stationary bits. The living life and the lived image are irreconcilable to me. I can only stop to recognize myself stopped, my mind stopped, cooling, fading. My own humming brings me back to consciousness. I press my face onto the cool tile of the bathroom floor and it slides in viscous chilled sweat. Fine hairs cast into my mouth. The toilet seats are both up. My eyes drift up off of the floor slower than my head. Passing time has few indices. The toilet bowl is empty but for clear water smiling.